City of Delusion
by klytaemnestra
Summary: Sixtynine stories up in a darkened apartment the plot begins. Bastardising BC canon. TsengxRufus yaoi.


Notes: This was started a little over a year ago and worked on periodically. The main reason this was never completed was the length it. However, I've finally decided to cut it up into segments and post it periodically since it might motivate me to actually finish it. Bastardising _Before Crisis _canon.

Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously.

_City of Delusion Pt. I_

The night sky is a glittering landscape of firefly pinpricks of light, powered by the city's eight mako reactors, turning the upper plate into a metropolis of dreams at nightfall. Beautiful in it's darkness and gothic splendour, and at its pinnacle the ShinRa tower where sixty-nine stories up in a darkened apartment the plot begins. Hatched by the sharp mind of a tragic prince for too many years he has played the part of a puppet.

Rufus Shinra sits alone, hand resting against the marble chess piece, intricately carved and cool to the touch, as he contemplates his next move against himself. The general used to play with him, once upon a time when they were all more innocent, taught him first how to use his intelligence and wit to out monouver his opponents. Light eyes lift toward the glass to look upon the skyline of the city—_his_ city, for he will make it his as surely as he is Rufus Shinra. Foolish of his father to let Sephiroth instruct him as a child, he thinks lips curving into a shadow of a smile as his knight claims a bishop, paving the way for the queen to take its prize.

He does not start when the door to his apartment slides open, knowing the precise footfalls against gleaming marble are those of his Turk. Does not acknowledge the presence until Tseng is behind him, reflecting darkly in the glass. And then he turns, game left forgotten for now, he pulls the Turk close, hand winding around dark silk and dragging him into a kiss. Tseng smiles just barely against Rufus' lips, half gloved hands trailing along his sides to rest on the sharps of hipbones before the boy twists around to stare back out over the city.

'Chess, again?' Tseng murmurs against strands of gold, dark eyes flickering toward the unfinished game. It has become an increasingly more common thing to find Rufus crouched above the chequered board absorbed in some match against himself, though he rarely has asked the Turk to indulge him. Perhaps he finds it to be more of a challenge when he is his own opponent.

'It passes the time,' Rufus replies dully, and moves from his lover's arms to the bar. 'Gin and tonic?' he asks, withdrawing two tumblers from the cabinet and filling them with ice.

Tseng nods in response, adding a customary, 'thank you' when Rufus hands him the drink, clinking their glasses together in a silent toast to all _this_.

It is almost a nightly ritual, drinks and passion. There are no pleasantries between them, no small talk about the day's happenings, for there is the silent agreement not to discuss such things here. It is a type of sanctuary for the Turk, the release his finds in the arms of the president's son.

Tseng's hands are against the back of his neck, and down his pants. Hungry, and possessive and demanding for it has been impossible to keep his hands off the boy. Perhaps it is Rufus' fault for being too eager, too willing, arching into the Turk's touch and moaning. It's best this way, Rufus knows. Loyalty won by sex. His plot lies dormant for now, allowing Tseng to guide him toward the bedroom, legs wrapped tightly around Tseng's waist as he rubs himself heatedly against him. They fall together against the bedsheets; no time to remove obstacles such as clothing as Tseng quickly prepares him. The soft purr of a zipper before Tseng thrusts into him, penetrating deeply as he pulls the boy's hips closer, gentleness lost beneath the need. Wanting nothing more than the snap of orgasm washing over him, he drives faster still, hands taking Rufus and working him to a fierce release.

-

They lay in bed together, white satin sheets draped modestly across Rufus' hips, pale legs wrapped around his lover. Both sated from the passion, a cigarette dangling from tapered fingers, smouldering in the reflected glow of the night sky. Rufus spins his first silken web.

'You'd do anything for me wouldn't you, Tseng?' he asks, fingertips trailing delicate patterns along the Turk's chest, along the fading scars. 'You're a Turk … my bodyguard. That means you'd kill for me.' Lips brush against Tseng's, 'Die for me.' The comment is enough to make Tseng pull back, to stare down into the boy's blue eyes and see the glint of something sinister, murderous.

Rufus' hand trails lower, along an inner thigh, blunt nails scratching. 'Do I have your loyalty?'

'You have no reason to question that, Rufus.'

He withdraws his hand then. 'I'm going to have him killed.' voice suddenly cold, hollow in the deadly seriousness of his tone. 'My father.'

To this Tseng says nothing at first, and takes another long drag off the clove, flicking ashes into the crystal ashtray resting beside them. He has suspected the young heir was, indeed, plotting before he was assigned to watch him. It is unlikely that someone would bother with an attempt on the president's son's life, and for all his suspicions of the president having more distrusting reasons in his decisions to station him here, the war is over and with it the inside threat of disloyalty.

'I'd rather you bide your time,' he states at last. There's little doubt that the president would kill his own heir if he were viewed as a valid threat. 'You shouldn't place yourself at such a risk.'

'I'm not going to kill him myself,' Rufus corrects, nails biting a little harder, tone suddenly petulant. 'I'm not that foolish.'

Tseng ignores the pout and the prick of pain against his thigh. 'I know you're not, Rufus. The president still has much of the corporation's support, though.'

'The corporation's support … because they fear me,' he states knowing well enough that the ShinRa hierarchy would rather forever live under the rule of his father. 'But not the people's support.'

He regards the boy with another look, dark eyes serious.

'They're plotting against us, you know. The people.'

To this Tseng nods. It's hardly an uncommon thing from the people below the plate. It has been a thing usually overlooked. Let them play at their games of small terrorist acts; ultimately they would be crushed underfoot.

But Rufus continues. He sees in these people a possibility of change. And a type of half madness plays in dark blue irises. 'What better way to win, than to pit your enemies against one another, hn?'

'You're dangerous.'

'So are you,' Rufus smiles—a twisted little sliver of not quite happiness across his pale features—crawling up to straddle the Turk's hips as Tseng takes one last drag and snuffs the lingering ember against hard crystal.

--


End file.
